


When We Were Strays

by Asphyxia



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Pastfic, Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner's A+ Parenting, there is child abuse but nothing beyond what is shown in the series, this is sad and I'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:15:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29526258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asphyxia/pseuds/Asphyxia
Summary: “You don’t have a name?”“Nuh-uh.”“Okay well your name can be Catra. Because you’re a cat. It matches my name, see?”A scared kitten alone in the Fright Zone and a girl who wants to protect her form an unbreakable bond that will someday save the universe. This is the story of how they meet.
Relationships: Adora & Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	When We Were Strays

**Author's Note:**

> Whew, what a mess this was to write! It was originally intended to be a totally separate fic but ended up morphing into this instead! I've had the idea of how I wanted to write about their meeting for a while but I just hadn't gotten the opportunity.
> 
> Shoutout to [Rhiimarkableart](https://twitter.com/rhiimarkableart) , who inspired the idea of Huntara being the one who brought Catra to the Horde. She has a really sweet comic about it and I recommend you check it out. 
> 
> Special thanks to my sister for beta reading this for me and for giving me insight on Catra and psychoanalyzing Shadow Weaver and her relationships with Catra and Adora with me for hours at 3 am fairly regularly over energy drinks. I absolutely could not write any SPOP fic without her help.
> 
> **PLEASE NOTE** though there isn't anything in this fic that's worse than what's shown in the series, it does definitely depict child abuse and so if you find that subject triggering you should proceed with caution and take care of yourself!

The air smells metallic and acrid, and she’s shivering. It’s cold here, and she doesn’t know where she is. There are adults around, milling about, but she’s managed to get away from them and now she’s in the corner of the room, her back pressed up against the cold greenish metal of the wall. 

“Why would you bring a child here?” the woman who speaks is scary. That’s the only word that comes to mind. She’s tall and her red face is flat and featureless. She has no nose or mouth but she has something like eyes, white and glowing in a way that makes her tail curl around one of her legs. It’s all puffed up. 

“I couldn’t just leave her there…” the other woman is scary too, but less so because she has a nose and a mouth. She’s big, and she’s purple, and her eyes are fierce and set deep in her head. “The village was completely decimated. She wouldn’t have made it. She’s just a kid, Shadow Weaver.”

The big scary red and black lady—Shadow Weaver?—takes a step toward the purple one and the room suddenly smells like something else, like smoke and fire as red energy crackles around her, the purple woman falling to her knees as she’s enveloped in _red_. She grunts, and the sound sends a jolt of fear through the kitten’s heart, one that’s bigger than the one that was there before. Bigger than anything. 

“Your insolence is astounding to me. Did you think no one would notice you bringing a child here? You will not make this kind of mistake again. Because of your reckless decision I was forced to manipulate her memories from before she was brought here, but there is always a possibility she may still retain some information that could be damaging. Child or not, Hordak will not take kindly to an outsider being brought here.” 

Whatever Hordak is, it sounds scary. This is all scary. The red, red red…it’s still crackling, and the purple lady is still grunting, her expression all hard lines and sweat on her brow. She looks like she’s struggling a lot. To not cry? To not react even more? It looks like it hurts. She doesn’t look like she’s bleeding, but the room still smells like blood. Shadow weaver is so, so tall. She is standing over the hunched woman like a tree. Trees…there isn’t much the kitten remembers, but she does remember trees. A scary tree, with no leaves, with long jagged branches that are reaching out toward the purple lady, to grab her chin and force her up to her knees, because she was starting to crumble farther to the floor. 

“Hordak will understand.” The purple lady sounds sure, despite her strained voice, and she sounds angry. Defiant. It’s scary in a different way than Shadow Weaver. “She’ll make a fine soldier. Her reflexes are sharp. I could barely catch her, back in the village. I wouldn’t have bothered you with this if I didn’t think she’d be of use. If I didn’t think she was strong.” 

Shadow Weaver lets her go, and she crumbles back to the floor, though it doesn’t take her long to rise back up to her knees, the hard defiant frown still in place on her face. “You will not bother Hordak with this. He does not have time to attend to such foolish things, and I do not have time to bother with another child. You should not have brought her here. I will ask Hordak what he wishes to do _when he is not otherwise occupied_. But I have no intention of dealing with another child.” 

For the first time since she was first thrust into this room after having her skull roughly probed by Shadow Weaver, the kitten feels the aforementioned figure’s eyes on her. It feels terrible, worse than the cold under her feet and on her back, and all she knows is to run. Her legs are fast. They’ve always been fast. She doesn’t know how she knows this, because she remembers very little but this scary green place, of the brief moments she’s spent here after the weird sensations of whatever Shadow Weaver was doing when she mixed up her thoughts. Those fast legs can take her where she wants to go, but she doesn’t know where that is.

The halls here are big and long, cold and metallic and there’s an oppressive, filthy green on everything. Machinery whirrs in the distance. Her sharp senses pick up burning oil, overheating engines, metallic clanging, murmurs from people she can’t see in rooms and chambers she passes. There are also people she can see, in the halls. A few of them reach out to her, confused, concerned. Most of them yell. She keeps running. She runs until her legs are burning, until her lungs are burning, and she’s crying. She’s crying so hard her eyes and head hurt, and her ears are pressed flat against her skull. There’s nothing but cold echoing halls and rooms and there’s nowhere to go.

Finally, when she can’t run anymore, she collapses. She’s in a room with high ceilings, and there’s a distant breeze coming from a wide open door, big. Massive crates are being brought in. All sorts of crates. There are giant ones, but there are smaller ones too. There are people here, unloading boxes from a big vehicle onto a smaller vehicle, and her instincts say that they shouldn’t see her. She rolls back out the door, her body shaking, and crawls along the floor, using her claws for leverage because she’s too tired to use her legs very much. 

Not too far down the hall, maybe ten feet, there’s a dead end. It’s shadowed and dark, and there are some empty boxes there. She chooses a small one and pulls herself into it, agonizingly folding her body into a fetal position, tail wrapped tightly around her body. In an attempt to comfort herself, she kneads herself, rhythmically clawing at her knees with her eyes squeezed shut tightly. Quietly, afraid someone will hear her, she cries. Purring normally comforts her, but she’s too weary and afraid to even manage it. And so she keeps up her silent kneading and crying.

She can’t remember anything. Why can’t she remember anything? Her brain feels weak and empty. Is there even anything to remember? What did Shadow Weaver do to her brain when she…when she…

Thinking of Shadow Weaver makes her shake harder, and she can’t cry harder than she already is because she is so exhausted, but she wants to. What was Shadow Weaver doing to that lady? Would she do the same to her if she found her here? The thought makes her yelp, very softly, and her hand comes up to cover her mouth. 

She cries for a long time, until she feels like her body is going to break. Eventually, she loses consciousness. It’s not quite sleep because she wakes so often with jerks, from what she thinks are nightmares but are really just visions of what happened before. She can’t say how long it is before she finally falls into a deep sleep. 

*

For a long time, she sleeps. It’s impossible to tell how long. Occasionally she wakes, but not for long. Long enough to curl up instead of sleep in the fetal position, to arrange her tail around one of her ankles, like someone is comforting her. She’s sure someone did once, but she doesn’t know who, and she doesn’t remember their face. Every time she wakes up, the light is different, so she knows she’s slept for a very long time. She’s hungry and thirsty, but she’s too scared to move from her box. The ache in her throat and stomach is more painful every time she wakes, but the fear keeps her paralyzed, and so all she can do is force herself to sleep.

Sleep gets thinner, harder, and even though she’s not tired she keeps her eyes squeezed shut, only opening them once in a while to check and make sure she’s still safe. The entrance to her box is always empty, and it becomes such a familiar sight that when she opens her eyes from a fitful nap to check that it’s the same, she almost doesn’t register the girl crouching in the entrance to the box, looking at her.

“Eek!” the sound leaves the kitten’s mouth without her permission, and she’s out of her curled position and pressing her back against the metal wall of the box, her tail puffed, her hair standing on end, and she’s hissing. Threateningly, menacingly, she hopes, brandishing her claws at the girl. 

The girl has light hair, light skin, and light eyes. Her hair is pulled back, and it looks like a tail. She doesn’t seem fazed by the display of ‘I’m so scary, you’d better stay away from me, I’ll hurt you before you even try to hurt me’. She just stares, and she tilts her head to one side, that yellowy tail of hair flopping to the side and swishing against her face. 

“Why are you in a box?” she asks, her voice light and strange. It sounds like it has sun in it, or something like that. 

“I’m hiding,” she replies like it’s the simplest thing in the world, because it is. Why would she be in here if she wasn’t hiding? 

“From what?”

“None of your business.” The kitten hisses at her, swiping at her with her claws, and the girl…laughs? It’s a weird, tinkly bright sound and she snorts, her nose scrunching up. Instead of scooting away she comes closer, into the box, and she plops down beside her, against the back wall of the box, and brings her knees up to her chest. She just stares for a minute, and then she grins at her.

“I’m Adora. I like applesauce and laying on the floor and running around and exploring. What’s your name? Do you wanna play with me?” the words all come out in an excited jumble and they crash and clink together. 

For a moment she rummages around in her brain, squeezing her eyes shut, hoping it will help. When she opens her eyes Adora is watching her expectantly, her face shining. “I don’t know my name. I don’t think I have one.” She must have, once, right? It doesn’t matter. It’s gone. Whatever Shadow Weaver did chased it away. 

“You don’t have a name?”

“Nuh-uh.” 

“Okay well your name can be…Catra. Because you’re a cat. It matches my name, see?”

Ado _ra_. Catra. She’s right. 

“O…kay.” 

“Okay Catra. Do you wanna play with me?”

Catra blinks, looking at Adora with wide eyes. She’s still pressed against the wall, her fur standing on end, but her frenzied breathing is starting to slow. “…I can’t come out of here.”

“How come?” 

“I’m hiding.”

“What are you hiding from?”

Catra shakes her head fervently. She’s worried if she talks about Shadow Weaver, she’ll find her somehow. She looks down, and she feels Adora’s hand on her shoulder. It makes her bristle at first, but when she finds Adora looking at her with a soft look, she relaxes, just a little.

“Are you scared? It’s okay!” Adora doesn’t wait for an answer, and before Catra knows what’s happening she’s giving her a tight hug. Catra stiffens up, doesn’t return the gesture, but Adora doesn’t seem bothered. She squeezes her tight. “I’ll protect you! I’m gonna be a really good fighter someday! And right now I know how to punch really really hard already! So if anybody tries to scare you I’ll punch them, okay?”

Catra pulls away from Adora and squints at her, which makes Adora laugh. “You’re really weird, Adora,” she tells her carefully. Adora laughs again. Her whole face scrunches up when she laughs. 

*

Catra is still too afraid to come out of her box, but Adora comes to see her every day. She brings her food to eat and water to drink. Sometimes at night she sneaks down to the area by what she’s explained to Catra is the ‘cargo bay’, where Catra’s box is, and she curls up next to her and goes to sleep. Catra sleeps better when Adora is there, when she has her warmth to curl into. Sometimes, Adora presses her back up against Catra’s back, to share her warmth, and it makes Catra purr. When Catra purrs, Adora laughs. A lot of things make Adora laugh. She’s happy and fun and not _scared_ like Catra is.

“How do you do that?” she asks, and Catra doesn’t know how to answer, how to explain how she purrs. Adora tries it, and she ends up just blowing a raspberry, spraying spit on Catra’s fur. This time Catra is the one who laughs. It feels good to laugh, makes the bubble of fear in her chest pop just a little, and Adora laughs with her. She starts to laugh more, starts to wrestle with Adora in their box more. After many days, she follows Adora out of the box and they chase each other around it, climbing on it and the other abandoned crates that are piled up around it. 

She feels braver, when Adora is around. She tells her she’ll protect her, that she’ll keep her safe. That if anybody scares her she’ll punch them. Catra believes her. She chases Adora around the end of the hallway. She shows Adora how her claws make her a fast climber, how she can scratch gouges in the metal of the boxes with them, and Adora thinks it’s exciting. 

Adora doesn’t have claws.

Catra examines their hands very closely, in the safety of the box. Adora has blunt, flat, white and pink fingernails, and she doesn’t have stripes on her arms. Her eyes are both light, light blue, and she doesn’t have a tail, or fur, no fluffs lining the curves of her jaw. Her ears are rounded and they aren’t covered in fur. It’s weird. Catra tells her she looks weird, and Adora sticks her tongue out at her.

“I’m not a cat, silly,” she tells her.

“What are you then?” she asks, and Adora just laughs. A lot of the time, when Adora doesn’t have an answer, she just laughs at herself. The laughter makes the box feel warmer and safer. Catra laughs with her a lot of the time, and their laughs sound different. Everything about them is different. It makes Catra feel…bad. She wants them to be the same. 

The more time Catra spends with Adora, the more she learns about the place around them. It’s called the Fright Zone, and it’s Adora’s home. Catra doesn’t know if it’s her home. She doesn’t know how she fits into all of this. The box, and Adora, are the only home she really knows. Shadow Weaver, the scary lady that Catra met on her first day, is the person who takes care of Adora. That’s strange to Catra. Adora says other people help too, that various adults help out because Shadow Weaver is very busy, but Shadow Weaver is the one who is teaching Adora how to read, how to tie her boots, how to fight, and other things. 

“She could teach you those things too, if you want to come out someday,” Adora tells her confidently. Catra shivers. That makes her feel cold in the pit of her tummy. 

“I don’t want her to,” she hisses, and Adora looks confused.

“Why?”

“She’s scary.”

Adora’s eyebrows scrunch. “Yeah,” she agrees. “But if I do everything good, she doesn’t do anything scary.”

“What isn’t good?” Catra asks in concern. If she ever has to come out of her box, she doesn’t want to do anything bad.

“Being too loud. Or crying. Or running into somebody in the hallway. Or not doing good enough with learning how to do things. If I make mistakes, she’s scary. But it’s my fault, because I’m not supposed to do that.”

“Oh.” 

There’s a lot about the Fright Zone Catra doesn’t understand. The distant sounds, the groups of people who pass within twenty feet of her box. What those people are doing. Why Adora doesn’t run away from Shadow Weaver and lets her teach her how to do things instead. Adora is confusing, she’s weird and kind of loud and she says dumb things, but Catra loves her. She loves her friend so much, she is a warmth against the cold and scary world around her that she doesn’t know how to be part of. Adora brings her food and promises to protect her forever and she curls up with her when she has a nightmare. Adora is familiar and safe and nothing else is. Catra doesn’t care about anything else. She attaches herself to Adora so completely that one day, when Adora doesn’t come to see her, she lies in her box and cries. 

The hours are long and lonely and Catra is so convinced that Adora doesn’t want to be her friend anymore, that she just gives up. She doesn’t even care if someone finds her now, doesn’t care what will happen if someone catches her and tells Shadow Weaver where she is so she can do…whatever she’s going to do to her. There’s a hard and painful sadness deep inside of her whole body that she can’t dig out, that she can’t get rid of by kneading herself or by curling up and going to sleep. 

When Adora does finally come back, the next day, Catra gives her a big, big hug, and she cries. Adora seems stunned that Catra is so upset but she apologizes over and over and promises never to leave her alone again. 

“Shadow Weaver said she didn’t like me running off so much. She made me train all day,” was her explanation, and Catra doesn’t care. She’s still mad, and she pushes her, then scratches her, and it makes Adora cry a little before she catches herself quickly—she isn’t supposed to cry, Catra knows this. Catra wants to say sorry, but she doesn’t. She just sits in the corner of the box and doesn’t talk to Adora until she comes and sits with her back to Catra’s and starts making weird noises, which is enough to make Catra finally stop her silent treatment. 

“What are you doing?” she asks her, and Adora stops just long enough to answer.

“I’m purring,” she explains, very seriously, and Catra can’t help it. She laughs. 

“That’s not purring,” she tells her, and Adora keeps doing it.

“I can’t purr like you,” she explains. “So this is how I purr instead.” 

The next day is the day that Catra hoped would never come; this time when Adora comes running down the hall at top speed—Catra can hear her coming because she tends to trip at least once over her badly tied boots because she runs too fast and she’s too excited and impatient—Shadow Weaver follows her. 

She’s just as scary as Catra remembers, and she just cowers in the box as Adora stands in the entrance of it, her arms spread wide, but she looks so small next to Shadow Weaver. Catra never doubted her friend’s claims that Adora can protect her for even a moment, until now. 

Shadow Weaver doesn’t say anything for a while, and that scares Catra right down to the tip of her tail. When she does speak, her voice is even scarier than she remembered. 

“So this is where you’ve been running off to, Adora,” she says, dangerously despite her voice being soft, and Catra wants to run. She doesn’t, though. Because she can’t leave Adora. Adora tells her she’ll protect her. She says it every day. But she wants to protect Adora too. 

“I’m sorry!” Adora cries out, and her voice sounds…weak. Catra never thought her brave loud friend who runs so fast and laughs so crazy could sound that way. “Please…”

“Please what?” Shadow Weaver sounds impatient. There’s danger in her voice, danger that makes Catra want to run. But she doesn’t run. She has to stay with Adora. She stays put. 

Adora balls her hands into fists. Catra can tell she’s trying to look brave.

“Catra is my friend,” she tells Shadow Weaver, her small voice sounding wavery and weak, like she’s under water. “Don’t do anything bad to her. She’s a good person.”

Shadow Weaver moves closer, and she leans down and tucks a lock of Adora’s hair that’s escaping from that tail behind her ear. It twists Catra’s stomach and she feels paralyzed. Catra can feel hot tears running down her face. She didn’t even know she was crying. It’s a gesture that would normally be nice, but there’s something scary in the way Shadow Weaver does it, and it makes her fur stand on end.

“You cannot keep things from me, Adora,” Shadow Weaver says firmly, and her tone is softer now, but still dangerous. “This is not allowed.”

“I’m sorry, Shadow Weaver,” Adora whimpers, and she sounds so different from her usual bright and loud self that Catra feels like she’s going to throw up. Shadow Weaver cups Adora’s cheek in one hand, and Catra can’t stand it. The sight fills her with something that doesn’t have a name and she springs out of the box, her claws flying at Shadow Weaver before she can even form a thought or a plan. 

“Don’t touch Adora!” she growls, pouncing at the tall figure in front of her with everything she has. She doesn’t connect. Shadow Weaver avoids her claws like they’re nothing and then Catra’s body explodes with pain. Red, red, red. Crackling sounds, fizzing, energy all around that’s so much and it hurts. It hurts so much that Catra screams, she writhes and collapses to the ground, vomiting on the ground and digging her claws into the metal of the floor in an attempt to gain some kind of control over her body. She pees herself a little, and it would be embarrassing if she could think of anything besides how badly it hurts, like every hair on her body is being cut into pieces over and over and over again. It blossoms over her skin, even inside her body, inside her stomach and in her chest and all the way into the depths of her bones. It feels like nothing she could have imagined. 

Catra keeps screaming, piercing and hard in a way that feels like her throat might rip, and it’s so loud in her own ears that she doesn’t even realize Adora is screaming too until she throws herself on top of her, shielding her with her entire body and holding onto her so tight that it hurts, but it barely registers with the amount of pain she’s already in. 

“Stop! Please!” Adora’s voice is desperate and shrill in Catra’s ears. “Stop hurting her! Please! Please!” the word please punctuates the pain in Catra’s body over and over until the pain stops as instantly as it began and Catra can catch her breath through her desperate wheezes, feeling the cold of the metal floor below her searing into her sweat-drenched skin. Adora is sobbing. Catra can hear her, can feel her tears as she presses her face hard into Catra’s shoulder, nudging her, silently asking if she’s okay. Catra is worried Shadow Weaver will hurt Adora too, because she knows Adora is not supposed to cry, but she doesn’t. She opens her eyes and her vision is blurred but she can make out Shadow Weaver standing a few feet away through the strands of Adora’s hair; her yellowy hair tail has flopped over Catra’s face. Her arms are crossed, and she’s watching them. 

For a long time, things are silent, and Adora just holds onto Catra and sobs. “I’m sorry,” she tells her quietly, her body shaking violently, and Catra wants to hug her but she’s paralyzed with worry and with weakness from the recent pain she endured. She apologizes over and over into Catra’s shoulder, and her tears and snot are getting all over her shirt. 

“Stop crying, Adora. It’s shameful,” Shadow Weaver says finally, and her voice cuts the air like a harsh bite onto a soft piece of food. Adora lets go of Catra and scrambles to her feet, wiping harshly at the tears all over her face. “Look at yourself. Disgraceful.”

“I’m sorry, Shadow Weaver,” Adora says quickly, and Catra can tell she’s trying very hard to sound calm. “It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t,” Shadow Weaver’s voice is low, calm, dangerous. So, so calm. Too calm. Catra wants to take Adora’s hand and run, take her so far away. She doesn’t want Shadow Weaver to talk to her, to look at her. Shadow Weaver turns her attention to Catra, and every hair on her body stands up. “Catra…is it?”

There is a challenge in Shadow Weaver’s tone, and Catra slowly nods, looking at her feet. She feels a tiny surge of pride at her name, because Adora gave it to her. She feels Shadow Weaver’s eyes leave her, and her shoulder untense just a little. 

“She can stay,” Shadow Weaver tells Adora, finally, and Catra feels a tiny leap in her chest, just a little thrum of hope. She isn’t going to throw her away, or kill her, or whatever other nameless scary things she thought might happen to her? “But she is your responsibility, Adora. Everything she does will reflect on you. Do I make myself clear?” 

“Yes.” Adora’s voice sounds less unsure than before. Catra wants to hug her.

“If she makes a mistake, you will be punished for it. If she misbehaves, it will be your fault. If you cannot keep her in line, I will get rid of her. That is the only way I will allow her to stay. Can you handle this, Adora? Are you willing to take on this burden knowing what will become of her if you make a mistake?”

Catra can see Adora’s fists clench hard. “Yes.” She repeats the single word again, and Catra watches her look up at Shadow Weaver. “I’ll look after Catra. I promise.” 

Shadow Weaver nods, and flashes her attention to Catra. “On your feet, Catra. Don’t just lie on the floor.” Her voice is unbelievably harsh, and a day ago it would have made Catra cry, but today she only scrambles to her feet, rushing to be at Adora’s side. Adora takes her hand and squeezes it hard. 

That day is the first day that Adora brings Catra with her to the bunk where she sleeps with what she calls the other ‘junior cadets’. They are all older than the two of them. She takes Catra to dinner with her, where they sit in a big room with many other people who talk loudly. It hurts Catra’s ears. They take showers in a big room full of steam, where Adora makes sure she knows where to find the soap and then teaches her how to put on some of the clothes that look a lot like Adora’s. A lot like everyone else’s around here. 

Adora lets her sleep in her bed with her, where they press their backs against each other’s and they purr together while they fall asleep. She shares the scratchy blue blanket with her and she hugs her tight when she wakes up from a nightmare. 

Over the weeks, Catra learns all about the Fright Zone. She learns about life with all sorts of people around them, learns that she and Adora can run and laugh and play as loud as they want as long as no one can hear them. They can be rambunctious and happy, and there’s plenty of kind of gross food to eat and water to drink, they can scramble up stacks of crates and they can scuttle into the little spaces behind machinery and laugh at the bugs they find crawling in the dark unseen corners of the green metal corridors. And Adora looks out for her, just as she promised. 

Catra is feeling more at home before she wakes Adora up just after she’s fallen asleep, shoving her back into hers roughly a few times until Adora grumbles sleepily but gives her her full attention, her eyes shiny as she nudges her in return to get her to talk. Adora rolls over, and she wiggles to get comfortable.

“I want to look out for you too,” Catra tells her softly, and Adora’s face lights up so brightly. Catra’s sensitive, mismatched eyes can pick that up in the dark. 

“Okay,” she whispers, reaching out and grabbing at Catra’s shoulder. Catra knows what she wants, and she reaches back to take her hand. She gives her hand a squeeze, and it feels like a promise. Catra feels safe. “You look out for me, and I look out for you.” 

They say this often. It becomes a shared ritual, a mantra, over the years. Catra learns a lot over the years, faster than Adora, who is a little naïve. She learns that Shadow Weaver only kept Catra around as a bargaining chip to control Adora better. She learns that they are being manipulated, being used. Having their most base traits used against them in such hideous ways that it’s no wonder they both develop a laundry list of complexes. She learns that her feelings have extended far beyond friendship when it comes to Adora, far beyond what is allowed. 

But it takes her so much longer than Adora, she realizes, to understand the new meaning that has developed from their shared phrase, from their little mantra that they developed when they were five years old. That it was a way of saying something else, for a long time, and she doesn’t learn this until they are twenty-one.

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was a little nervous about posting this one since it's a little heavier than what I've written for this series before, but it's something I did want to share. It's been sitting on my computer for about a week but I decided to bite the bullet and just post it.
> 
> I kinda considered writing a few more chapters about Catra settling into life in the Horde and about them doing dumb kid things but it also feels finished at the same time so I'm not really sure.
> 
> Anyway thank you so much for reading! It means a lot to me.


End file.
